I arrived back at my Brisbee abode and went right to work on the journal. Its yellowed pages were extremely fragile, but if I was very careful, I could manipulate them in such a manner that they wouldn't fall apart as I turned them. The handwriting was less than perfect (to say the least), but under the brilliant light from my magnifying glass, I was able to make out the words.
Blackjack Boughton had begun his life as a bandit at a rather early age and had terrorized these parts for several years. There were many entries in the journal detailing his days and activities in Brisbee. He used to hang out here on occasion and the townsfolk had tried to rid themselves of the hard-drinkin' cardsharp since their first encounter with him and his gang. Several of the pages told of the gang's exploits into Colorado Territory and their successful plundering of gold shipments on the treacherous mountain trails leading from the mining camps.
Blackjack told of one load of gold that was so large it couldn't be carried away all at once. It was something like three wagon-loads of gold bullion! After hijacking the shipment, one wagon was driven east, one west, and the third, with a broken axle, had to stay put. So those of the gang left behind went to work burying the gold in various places away from the trail hoping it wouldn't be found until they could come back for it.
The gang met back in Brisbee for a little relaxation and fun. (Of course the fun consisted of terrorizing the town.) One of the gang, "Kid Hawpe", was a particularly hard case who could drink any man completely under the bar and still shoot straight enough to make even the toughest cowpoke cringe in fear. Blackjack was gleeful as he told of the Kid's gun with its many notches in the handle and of all the piles of stones with wooden crosses left in his path from Tascosa to Brisbee.
One night Kid Hawpe and Blackjack got into a card game with a Brisbee local, "Sour-Mash Marsh", and a game that started in relative peace turned into a brawl that has never been forgotten. Seems that ol' Marsh had brought along some of his famous dribblins disguised in a regular whiskey bottle and when the two outlaws took a swig, they just about choked to death! Well, with tempers flarin' and fists flyin', the saloon cleared and the brawl moved out into the street. Luckily for Sour-Mash, the cut-throats were already so drunk that there wasn't much punch in their knuckles, and their guns were hangin' on the wall inside the saloon, so he was able to slip away in the confusion.
This story was very interesting, but it wasn't quite what I had hoped to find. I decided to skip ahead several pages to see if I could find another reference to the gold.
